Lone Star Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  The momentary distraction allowed Chris and two other men to close the net. They waylaid one of the men wearing a coat. Chris had yet to spot Whelan, but he knew one man was in the jail, and another just stepped into the doorway, as well. Chris kept his gaze trained on the remaining one in the coat.

  Suddenly from somewhere behind him, Chris heard a shotgun blast. Gunfire started, but Chris spent only one bullet. The man pulled a rifle from his coat. Chris yelled, “Drop it!”

  The man fired at him, but Chris dove behind a water trough. Whether it was his shot or someone else’s he didn’t know, but that man fell. Chris didn’t pause. He saw the muzzle of a pistol from the jail’s doorway and fired a mere breath later. The man dropped his weapon while cursing profusely.

  Chris rolled to his feet and sprinted to the jail. That man was trying to shove the door shut. Chris kicked it open. It caught his assailant in the chest and knocked him across the room. His head hit the wall with a loud thud, and he collapsed into a heap. Chris didn’t want Whelan sneaking in behind him, so he slammed the door shut and shoved the bolt into place.

  The last man backed up to Wren’s cell.

  He had his gun to Rob’s neck.

  Chapter 11

  Drop your gun, or I’ll kill him!”

  “He’s the one! He’s the ranger!” Wren, still in her cell, stood directly behind the gunman. From his angle, Chris couldn’t really see her, but he knew exactly where she was. She kept yanking on the man, goading him.

  His brother’s life depended on the smallest twitch of a trigger finger. Chris had already resigned himself to the fact that she’d betrayed his trust—but it took all of his discipline not to roar at her. “Turn loose of him, Wren. He’s got a gun on Rob.”

  “No one’s gotten hurt in here yet.” Rob’s voice sounded slow and steady—it carried the same tone as when he handled medical emergencies. “If Whelan wants his sister back, I’m not going to argue.”

  “He’s the one!” Wren’s voice grew more urgent. “He’s got the keys.”

  Sweat rolled down the man’s temples. He rasped, “Drop your gun!”

  “Easy now.” Chris tilted his head toward the desk. “I’ll set it on there. It’s got a hair trigger, and I don’t want it to go off.” He slowly edged toward the desk. If he got the right angle … Lord, please safeguard my brother. Help me. Give me guidance and perfect my aim.

  “Where’s my brother?” Wren continued to pester the man. “Is he outside?”

  “Shut your trap!” the man roared. “Whelan ain’t payin’ me half enough to put up with your mouth.”

  “He’s here, isn’t he?” Wren persisted. “Tell me he’s here.”

  The man let out a dirty bark of a laugh. “That’s far enough, mister. Set down your gun and put the keys on the desk, too.”

  Chris gave his pistol a longing look as he set it down on the edge of the desk closest to himself. He took the keys and started to put them in the center of the desk.

  “Don’t let his brother go get the keys.” Wren stood on tiptoe and peered over his shoulder. “He could snatch the gun, too.”

  “You think I don’t know that? I’m not stupid!” He waved his gun at Chris. “Just you step back until you hit the wall. Then toss the keys to me.”

  Chris intentionally threw the keys so they’d land short.

  “Now keep your hands up where I can see them.”

  Chris raised his hands, threaded them together, and held them behind his head.

  “Careful-like,” the gunman rasped to Rob, “you stoop over and fetch me that ring of keys.”

  Rob waited a moment after he’d been turned loose, then inched forward. As his brother moved, Chris pulled the knife out of his sleeve. The moment Rob squatted down, Chris threw the knife.

  The gunman reacted as soon as Chris’s hand came into view, firing twice. The knife pierced the man’s chest. Having not been struck, Chris assumed the worst: Rob had been shot. Chris let out a roar as he charged the assailant.

  The man thrashed but didn’t move far.

  “Hurry,” Wren pled. “I can’t hold—”

  Chris could see how she’d seized the gunman’s sleeve in two places and fought to restrain him. Taking the gun proved quite easy. Chris grabbed for it, and when he met resistance, he dug the knife deeper into the gunman’s shoulder. Curses and blood flowed as Chris took possession of the gun.

  “Rob!” Wren finally stepped into view.

  Chris couldn’t turn and look yet, but the devastated look on Wren’s face made him want to howl.

  “I’m fine. Just knocked my hard head on the corner of that desk.”

  The air rushed from Chris’s lungs. “Rob, get the handcuffs. Top drawer.” He motioned with the gun. “You. Down flat on the floor. Face down.”

  A twist and a few curses later, the man spat, “I can’t.”

  “Dinna tell me what you canna do. Down. Now.”

  “He can’t.” Wren grinned. “I tied him to the bars.”

  “You what?”

  “His suspenders. He thought I was just yanking on his shirt, but that was a distraction. I slid material through and knotted—oh, just come look.”

  Why had she—? Chris couldn’t distract himself with any questions just now. He shoved the confusing fact aside and kept the gun trained on the men until Rob had them both handcuffed. He also satisfied himself that the one who’d crashed into the wall was waking and suffered no real damage. Winding a temporary bandage over the knife wound, Rob declared, “When things settle down, I’ll have to suture this.”

  Gunshots still resounded outside. Swiftly shoving bullets into the empty chambers in his own weapon as well as the gunman’s, Chris ordered, “I’m going out there to finish this. Rob, get over here and bolt the door once I’m out. Dinna open it unless Duncan or I tell you to. Whilst I’m gone, lock them into the second cell.”

  “Be careful,” Wren called to him just before he opened the door. Desperation and sincerity colored her voice.

  He no more than looked out the door than something struck the boardwalk and rolled past. Chris scanned the area. The gunfire grew sparser, but something hit again. A marble. Chris cranked his head to the side. Mercy’s grandda motioned to him, then disappeared between two buildings.

  Chris reached him seconds later. “What is it?”

  “The bank. There are men in the bank.”

  The bank was located on the opposite side of the street, on the other side of the churchyard. Chris knew at once Whelan used the jailbreak as a distraction so he could hit the bank again.

  “How many?”

  “Just two. I found their horses. Those bad men—they might come out, but they will not go far.”

  “Fast thinking.”

  “Rundsdorf, he said there are two men still on the street.”

  Chris nodded. He’d listened to the gunfire and had a good notion where each of those men were. “Do you know who’s in the bank?”

  “Mr. Meisterson was in the diner. I think Horst was alone in the bank.”

  Chris nodded curtly. Chris looped behind several buildings and sneaked toward the bank. Suddenly, the bank’s door flew open. One man exited. He spied Chris and fired. Chris was faster.

  “Surrender, Whelan!”

  “I’ve got a hostage!” Whelan shouted back.

  Bang! Thud.

  Horst yelled from inside the bank, “He’s wrong. The hostage has him! I got his gun and knocked him out.”

  Chris took a single step toward the bank. His leg didn’t want to move. He glanced down and noticed red blossoming from just above his left knee.

  “Kathryn Regent, I’m placing you under house arrest.”

  “House arrest!” Wren stared at Chris in utter disbelief. She’d stayed in the clinic with Duncan, waiting and praying as Rob removed the bullet from Chris’s leg. The last thing she expected was for him to hobble out under his own steam. Well, the second to last. “Rob, check his head. He must have gotten another injury. It’s the o
nly reason he’d say anything so—”

  “Dinna be kickin’ up a fuss,” Duncan warned, “else he’ll put you back in the jailhouse.”

  “You’re a material witness to several crimes.” Chris stared at her.

  “And I’m enduring another here and now. You’re stealing my freedom and peace of mind, Chris Gregor.”

  “You’ll survive,” he responded in a dry tone. He folded his arms across his chest. “I wonder how ’tis you say I’m taking your peace of mind. You’ve got it twisted backward, woman. ’Tis you who’s givin’ me a piece of your mind every time I turn around.”

  “That’s just another reason why I shouldn’t be trapped under house arrest.”

  Carmen and Mercy rushed in. “Chris—is he—”

  “Right as rain. No need to make a fuss.”

  “He’s putting up a fine show, but he needs rest.” Rob motioned to Duncan. “We’ll take him o’er to the house. I dinna want him walking for a few days.”

  Chris glowered. “I’ll walk.”

  “Mercy, you and I had better have daughters.” Carmen gestured toward the men. “The Gregor men are all stubborn as mules.”

  “Aye. And dinna forget it.” Chris took one hobbling step and halted. His eyes narrowed. “Duncan, you didna tell us!”

  “Tell you what?” Duncan yanked Chris’s right arm about his shoulder and supported him.

  Chris shook his head. “Rob and I got all the brains, Carmen. Duncan, your wife just told us all she’s carryin’ a bairn.”

  Duncan turned so fast, he almost knocked Chris over. Instead of helping his brother to the house, Duncan insisted on carrying his wife there.

  Wren lagged back. This might be a good opportunity to break free.

  Chris must have read her mind. He ordered, “Mercy, I’ve put Wren on house arrest. Dinna let her out of your sight.”

  It seemed impossibly rude to fight with Mercy since she was carrying Elspeth and was due to birth her baby any day now. Wren made an exasperated sound. She swiped Elspeth and declared, “I’m only staying because I choose to. I promised to help Mercy until her baby comes.”

  Once they reached the house, she looked about herself. The house was sizable, but it had never seemed smaller to her. Chris Gregor nearly sucked the air out of a room, so commanding was his presence and so large his build.

  Chris eased into a chair. “You’ll stay as long as I say, Wren.”

  Wren gave him a dirty look. He’d locked her up and made it clear he thought she was in league with criminals, and now he displayed the unmitigated gall to think he could order her around? “One Gregor man isn’t just stubborn, he’s demented,” she said to little Elspeth.

  Elspeth’s little hand came up and patted Wren repeatedly at the base of her throat. “Ya, ya, ya, ya, ya.”

  “Mercy, your daughter is very bright. She agrees with me.”

  “No matter when Mercy has the babe, you still are a material witness. You’ll have to appear in court for the trials of all those men.”

  “I’ll be an old woman before that’s done,” she moaned.

  “No.” Chris accepted a glass of water from Mercy. “We’ve already sent off for the judge. Those men will all get a speedy trial, just as the Sixth Amendment allows.”

  Her eyes widened. “You remember the amendments to the American constitution?”

  “Aye, and why wouldn’t I? ’Tis my new home, this fine nation. And I respect the laws of the land. ’Tis my responsibility and duty to see to it laws are upheld. So stay you will.” He scowled. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice, Mercy? There’s laudanum in this.”

  “Doctor’s orders,” Rob clipped. “Drink it.”

  Chris set aside the glass and got to his feet. “The devil will be ice skating the day I need laudanum for a wee scratch.”

  Rob helped him up the stairs. A second later, Chris bellowed, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice, Duncan?”

  Duncan chuckled. “He’s going to be fine.” After a few seconds, he roared with laughter. “Katie, I have something I want to share with you. Seein’ as how you’ll be stuck here awhile.”

  “What is it?”

  “Gingerbread.”

  Chapter 12

  Chris gritted his teeth and sat in the desk chair at the jail. He refused to lie about all day. One day of convalescence at home drove him to distraction.

  Whelan snickered. “Another day and that leg’ll fester.”

  Chris ignored him.

  “Yep. You’ll get the gangrene and die.”

  “Don’t you ever shuddup, Whelan?” One of the other men groaned.

  “You ain’t gonna fare any better.” Whelan smirked. “Another day or so, and that hole he carved in you’s gonna plant you six feet under.”

  “If it wasn’t for your sister—”

  Whelan cursed. “I told you all she was, was a distraction.”

  Chris kept his back to them and opened a drawer to get paper. He’d copy down what they said and use it in court. Only one sheet remained in that drawer, so he took it and opened the next. Instead of paper, tiny, frilly, white baby gowns rested there. Irritated, Chris shoved them to the side and grabbed for paper below them. The only paper he located was the letter he was to send to Lucille from Wren.

  The whole while, Whelan argued with the men in the other cell. “I told you you’d get a share as long as you took care of the diversion. Didn’t matter whether you sprung her free or not …”

  Whelan’s heated words took Chris off guard. “He left me behind when Mama died. If he wouldn’t take care of me when I was only fifteen, what makes you think he’ll suddenly turn into a dutiful brother? … My stepbrother does not value me.” Wren’s words flooded back.

  He’d judged and condemned her, yet she’d sat there in his cell sewing clothes for Mercy’s baby. And the letter. He scanned it.

  Wren asked Lucille to thank the cook for the recipe for spaghetti. Little Elspeth especially loved it and made a comical mess of herself. Lucille was right in her last letter—the henna finally did completely rinse away. The flower, herb, and vegetable gardens at both Gregor residences were flourishing, but only because of conscientious watering. The church had just installed a lovely stained glass window, and Wren would love to have her come visit to see it. Three pages of woman talk. Newsy, breezy chatter. Woven amongst all those tidbits were gentle references to God or the Bible or something about a dear old soul in the congregation who’d done some small kindness. In the most unlikeliest turn of events, Wren had forged a friendship with, and was showing God’s love to, a soiled dove.

  She was right, Lord. I wasn’t seeking justice. I sought revenge. It blinded me to the truth. I have to make this right.

  “Wren, I’m needing to talk to you.”

  “Later.” She continued to knead dough. Little bursts of flour swirled over her hands. “Carmen’s not feeling her best. She and Mercy are both napping upstairs. After I’m done here, I need someone to take me to the mercantile so I can get her some Trenton crackers. Rob says they’ll help.”

  “Trenton crackers?”

  “The soda in them settles a sour stomach.” She formed a smooth ball of dough, dropped it back into the yellow-striped earthenware bowl, and covered it. “Can you walk me there, or is your wound too sore?”

  “You can go after we talk.”

  Washing her hands, she mentioned, “Rob’s at the Kunstler’s. Ismelda’s in labor.”

  “Don’t tell Mercy!”

  Wren started to dry her hands. “She already knows. She wanted to go help, but Rob insisted she stay here with Carmen. Mrs. Kunstler has helped him with other births. We all prayed for Ismelda before he left.”

  Chris groaned and flopped into the nearest chair. “This is bad.”

  “Your leg?”

  “No. Mercy knowing about Ismelda. The night she had Elspeth, Stu Key’s wife had a baby. Mercy might think it’s catching. Until Rob got back home, he oughtn’t have told her.”

  Wren realized he was
serious. She laughed.

  “It was terrifying. I’m not going through a labor again—at least, not without him present.”

  “You didn’t endure it, Mercy did.”

  Chris shook his head. “She’d like to have killed us. Baked cookies by the dozen, then put sugar in the mashed potatoes. Shouted her throat raw, too. And did she have the good sense to birth the bairn in that fine clinic? No, I tell you.” He propped his elbows on the table and buried his head in his hands.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  Slowly he lifted his head. “Your advice is too late.”

  “Yes, well—”

  “Not about the laboring. About me jumping to conclusions. That’s why I’m needing to talk to you, Wren.”

  Wren. She heaved a sigh. She’d come to loathe that nickname. He’d not used it until he slapped her in jail.

  “Sit down.”

  She shook her head. “The crackers—remember?”

  “This is more important.”

  “At the moment, my friend is more important—”

  “Than you? Nae, lass. ’Tisna so. You’re hurtin’ on the inside, and it’s well past time for that to cease.”

  “I’m hale as a draft horse.”

  Chris shook his head. “I’m talking about your heart. You were right. Whelan didna care whether you were set free. He used your presence in the jail just to cause a diversion.”

  Wren shrugged. She’d not expected anything different.

  “Mrs. Kunstler was right, too. As soon as I knew Whelan was your brother, I jumped to conclusions and judged you according to his sins. All this time, you’ve worked your fingers to the bone to scrape by. Then you came here and tended to my family.”

  “You have a wonderful family.” You cannot begin to imagine how blessed you are.

  “Lass, I’m asking your forgiveness. I wronged you.”

  Wren stared at him. “You don’t have to do this, Chris. Awful as it will be, I’ll still swear to tell the truth in court. What you say to me won’t change what I must do that day.”